The Little Bird From District Ten
by DrogonSoundsLikeDragon
Summary: When Sansa's father Ned died in the mines, she was left to protect her mother and unruly sister Arya- Even if that means volunteering for the Hunger Games in her place. Will Sansa and Sandor make it back to District Ten as victors? Story follows The Hunger Games first book with GOT/ASOIAF characters, SanSan, swearing and smut.
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing :)**

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><p>The mornings were the worst.<p>

Every year the reaping fell on one of the coldest days in district ten; thick white fog curled around the windows, the three women's breath turning to ice in the freezing room.

Sansa groaned, stretching her back, before hopping off her small bed she shared with her little sister Arya. The morning were the toughest part of her day, considered Sansa. Some days the two moons were still in the sky, and all she wanted to do was sink back into her thin mattress and sleep on with her sister.

But on the morning of the Reapings, that was never an option.

Hastily dressing in a thick, worn woollen coat and thick leather boots, Sansa turned back and pulled their patched duvet closer to their mother, Catelyn. She left the slip slightly hanging off Arya.

Stepping out of the front door, Sansa breathed heavily and looked around the square her house resided in. There were only a few residents up and already bartering, but it wouldn't be long till the whole of district ten was up. Not on this day of the year.

"Mornin', Sansa!" a woodswitch by the name of Sae hobbled along, leaning heavily on a chipped wooden stick.

"I could look for another stick for you, Sae." Sansa smiled, pulling her coat more tightly.

Sae simply smiled, and walked on. "You best go lookin' for some more flowers for your meal, dearie. 'eavens knows you kiddies have enough to be worryin' about today of all days."

The brief mention of the Reaping was enough to have Sansa hurrying on her way like a squirrel; rushing around a corner, she stumbled over her feet, falling into a stranger.

"Oh, I'm so sorry sir-Oh!" Sansa squeaked, craning her neck to look at Gregor Clegane. She scrambled away from the monster of a man, who growled at her. The hard concrete ground trembled beneath his feet as he rushed towards her, before a shadow fell over Sansa's limp form.

"Get back to the Bakery ya' stupid arse," a rough voice spoke. Only a slight shake in it betrayed the owner's fear.

Gregor rumbled low and deep. "You'll pay for that, little brother."

With that, his hulking great form turned away leaving Sansa to her saviour. There stood Sandor Clegane, his great form shielding her. He roughly grabbed her armpits, heaving Sansa to her feet. By this time, a slight crowd had gathered around the scene.

"What are you all starin' at? Fuck off!" Sandor cursed, the crowd melting away like the dew on morning grass.

"Thank you, Sir." Sansa looked Sandor in his good eye, refusing to let her blue orbs settle on his injured side. Everyone knew the story of Sandor's burns; one thundery morning five years ago, Sandor had accidently burned some of his family's precious bread. Instead of Gregor slapping Sandor over the head, the brute simply laid his brother's face over the scorching coals in the oven. Only Sansa and the boy himself knew that Sandor burned the bread for the young girl, who had laid limp by the tree in her starvation. It had only been a few months after her father's death, and Sansa simply couldn't stand the weak cry of Rickon's hunger any longer.

"I ain't no sir."

"You are to me." Sansa whispered quietly, making her friend chuckle.

"Aye, if you say so, little bird. See you at the reaping." With that, he patted something into Sansa's small hand and strode back to his bakery.

Sansa opened her fist, to find a small chunk of banana bread, warm and crumbling.

The small rip in the fence was Sansa's best friend in these pressing times. Curling her small arm underneath the metal, she grabbed a handful of dry grass and added it to her tiny pile of katniss and blackberries. It wouldn't be a very fulfilling breakfast, but it was something.

The door to her small house swung open easily, to reveal Catleyn calmly brushing Arya's scruffy mop of brown hair as she fidgeted and groaned. At the sight of Sansa's arms filled with vegetation, she whooped and strode to the cupboard, loudly pulling out three tin plates. Catelyn smiled, and seated herself at the small wooden table.

"Well done, darling." At her mother's praise Sansa felt herself glowing. It reminded her of the times before her father's death, when herself and her mother could sit for hours sewing, watching the fire dance in the grate. Sansa had been forced to sell the sewing kit for shoes for Arya.

The sister scoffed, before helping herself to some blackberries. "All she did was harvest some plants. You shoulda' let me come with you, I would have caught a big fat duck." Sansa simply smiled, and ran her hand over the banana bread tucked in her skirt pockets.

"I have a treat, for when the Reaping's over." At the mention of it both her family members froze, food dangling off of Catelyn's fork.

Since her father Ned's death in the coal mines, and later little Bran and Rickon, treats had been a scarce commodity in the small house. Catelyn had stayed virtually catatonic since then, and it was only in the past few months her mother had returned to a fragile shell of the person she once was. It was only for Sansa that Arya had decided to talk to her mother that morning. Her younger sister detested her mother for leaving the two young children to fend for themselves after their father's passing, thinking her weak and unworthy for the name Stark she had married into.

It was in the last year that Arya had started to talk to Sansa again, too. Although Sansa loved and protected her sister with all her heart, the duo fought like cat and dog, and more than once Arya had strode out of the shack vowing to return to the Capitol, only to be returned a few hours later by Greasy Sae, looking muddy and furious.

As the bell in the square rang twice to signal for district ten to start dressing, Sansa and Arya walked to the other room in their small house to change.

"I hate the Reaping." Arya suddenly burst out, as Sansa tried to tuck her sister's shirt in the skirt in vain.

"Mind your tongue, Arya." Sansa looked around, wildly, for any sign of a camera zooming in on the siblings.

"You're such a-" Sansa's soft breath tickled Arya's neck as she whispered, forcing the twelve year old to quieten down.

"Now then," Catelyn walked in the room briskly, plumping a thin pillow, "Arya, remember to do and go where your sister tells you. As you only have one slip, you'll be fine, and don't bring any attention to yourself. Sansa, dear, good luck." The elder sibling had had her name entered twenty times, this year; although she considered the tesserae to be worth it.

Arya showed no signs of having heard their mother as she bent down to stroke the ugly pet cat of Sansa's named Lady. Sansa sighed at her, before looking out the window to check on their goat, Needle. A birthday present of Arya's, the animal was proving at stubborn as her owner and refused to produce any milk that Sansa could sell.

"Let's go," their mother murmured, briefly clutching at both her daughter's hands.

The square was packed by the time Sansa and Arya had settled in their age groups. Albeit Arya hissing at the peace keepers when her blood was taken, the event had so far gone off without a hitch, and Sansa relaxed slightly in her long blue dress. Her auburn hair fluttered in the confines of her braid as she looked about.

A little way off stood her friends Madge and Jeyne Undersee, both conversing urgently. The twins looked elegant in matching white dresses. She noticed Sandor slouching in his eighteen year group, his dirty white sleeves rolled up and one brace hanging around his hip. He noticed Sansa looking at him, and smirked, sending the younger girl blushing.

The stage and screen suddenly lit up.

"Helloooo, District tennnnn!" Lynesse Hightower's drawling capitol accent echoed around the square, sending winces through the audience.

"Welcomeeee to the seventy fourth annual Hunger Gamessss!" one person clapped hesitantly,

The only surviving mentor of District ten, Tyrion Abernathy, hopped drunkenly up the stairs, before clutching at Hightower's legs, laddering her acid green tights. She gently kicked the dwarf off, before he settled down, swaying in his official chair next to the embarrassed Mayor.

"The one thing," drunkenly hiccoughed Tyrion, "Better than being the god of tits and wine, is a GOOD STAGE ENTRANCE!" He promptly vomited on the side of the stage, before snoring in his plush chair.

The tension was mounting. As the official propaganda video reels started to roll, Sansa focused on breathing. In the two bowls by on either side of the stage, twenty slips had her name on them. Twenty.

"Back in the Dark Days, when Targaryens and the twelve districts ruled and enslaved the gentle country of Westeros..."

_One two three, Sansa. Count. Four five six._

"Seventy five years ago, the great Capitol overthrow the terrible reign, and a sign of peace, the twelve districts agreed to..."

_Ten eleven twelve thirteen oh god oh god oh god-_

She hadn't noticed the film ending, and the two balls being wheeled closer to Lynesse. One of her large yellow eyelashes was starting to peel off.

"Gentlemen first, for a changeee!" She rummaged around in the great glass ball, white powder falling from every exaggerated movement of her face, until her scrawny claws clasped around a name.

"Sandor Clegane!" the only sound in the silent district was Gregor's hoarse laughing as his brother clumped up the stairs to shake the Mayor's hand.

As Sansa's bright blue eyes filled with tears for the kind and gentle man she barely knew, she was only half listening to Lynesse foraging for a girl's name.

"Arya Stark!"


	2. Chapter 2

It was honestly very interesting.

Sansa watched as an auburn haired girl pushed her sister from the stairs behind her, the young spitfire pounding and screaming at the elder girl as she clearly yelled, "I volunteer as tribute!" An older woman, waiting with the parents, fell to her knees and silently opened her mouth in an echo.

As Arya was carried away by one of the more friendly peace keepers, It wasn't until Sansa felt the warm shake of Sandor's hands that she realised she was the red haired child.

Lynesse, having recovered from the excitement of having the second ever volunteer from district ten, smiled her white teeth and ushered her young charges away.

"Please make some noise for district ten's seventy fourth tributes!"

District twelve, perhaps, would have raised their three fingers in a salute. District seven, would have thrown their palms up in defiance. But Sansa's home, her _people, _simply stood, unbowed, unbent, unbroken.

Tyrion was the first to break the silence.

"I like 'er!" he slurred loudly, pushing Sandor aside to grasp at Sansa's dress. "She's got spunk! More than youuu!" he rolled his tongue at the last syllable, pointing directly at a lower camera. Sansa could feel her fair skin turn beet red in embarrassment.

The walk to the Hall Building was long and arduous, made only easier by Sandor's hand brushing Sansa's at every step. The duo were lead down a corridor with plush carpeting, to separate rooms opposite one another. It was only a few minutes before Sansa was joined by her mother and sister.

"You stupid!" Screamed Arya, hurtling into the room before their mother. "I would have had a chance! You'll die!"

Her harsh words were only tempered by the furious hug she gifted Sansa with.

"Now then," Sansa kept her voice steady as her mother joined the hug, "you know what plants to harvest, and try and hunt with Father's old bow, Arya. Sell some of it at the hob to Sae, she'll give you a fair price. And remember to feed Lady and Needle." Sansa kept her arms tight around Arya whilst she turned to her mother.

"You can't leave again, mother. Arya may act tough but she's twelve years old and I won't be there to be her parent."

Catelyn stepped backwards from the harsh words spilling from her daughter's mouth.

"It was different, Sansa! Your father and Bran and Rick-"

"They're DEAD, mother!" a choked sob left Arya at Sansa's words. "Arya is alive and needs your care!"

Their time was up; the peace keepers returned, dragging Catelyn and Arya away as Sansa held back tears.

"I love you!" She managed to shout out before the door shut on them, separating the cracked family in one clean break.

There was more food than Sansa had ever seen in her life.

Eggs, fried and scrambled and poached, bread that had been crisped to a golden complexion, sauces of every shade of the rainbows Sansa adored.

Sandor hadn't even waited for her presence in the spacious train carriage. His plate was already piled high with brown charred meat and crunchy yellow chips.

As Sansa delicately picked at her small, green salad, Lynesse pursed her lips at Sandor's nonchalant way of scooping tomato sauce on his fries.

"You should really remember your manners, Sandor. You're just like those two tributes last year. Mance and Ygritte, was it? Always chomping their food down. A pair of wildlings with cutlery!"

Before Sansa could object, Sandor looked Lynesse straight in the eye and retorted, "Maybe because our fair district normally eats tree roots for breakfast."

Lynesse stood from the mahogany table in a huff. "I'll go search for Tyrion."

After she left, Sansa was the first to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Interesting to note that her accent disappears once the crowds are safely away."

Sandor let loose a dark chuckle, and picked up a tray of meat.

" 'Ere." He gruffly placed a slice of steak on top of her salad, grease pooling at the bottom of the succulent meat.

"That rabbit crap won't build you up for the games."

The thought of the Games in only a week had Sansa pale and silent once more.

"Ello!" slurred a welcome voice. Tyrion was dressed in a loose grey waistcoat with vomit slightly staining the silk; he pushed forwards on unsteady feet to pour himself a drink of amber liquid, before seating himself opposite Sandor and Sansa. The inelegant scrambling of his dwarf legs made Sandor grin to himself.

_His face changes when he smiles, _thought Sansa suddenly.

"So, you're our mentor, correct? To tell us how we get sponsors and high scores and the like?" Sansa asked the dwarf.

Tyrion simply took a long drawl of his whisky and leaned back, humming, in the plush red chair.

"Look at her when she's talking." The steel that was Sandor's voice made both his companions look at him, surprised.

"What if I don't?" Tyrion asked, a smirk on his misshapen face.

Sandor lunged forwards to grab his mentor's drink, before a nimble punch from Tyrion had him reeling backwards into his chair. The dwarf pounced over the table, ready to begin another attack, before Sansa did the only thing she could think of; she smashed her silver cutlery knife between the imp's wide fingers.

"Well, well, well." Tyrion sat back in his chair rubbing his digits, all traces of drunkenness from his voice gone. "Looks like I got a couple of fighters this year."

He shook his head at Sandor holding some ice to his eye. "Leave it. Makes you look like you've already had a scrap with another tribute."

Tyrion's business like demeanour had Sansa holding her mouth open. He looked at her amusingly.

"Any hope in hell you're talented with some more weaponry, princess?"

Sansa shook her head, and glanced over at her partner, who was cradling his swollen eye in his hand.

"Arya was the one who could kill the animals. I never liked seeing them in pain."

Tyrion laughed. 'Ah yes, the famous sister. I distinctly remember being kicked up the arse by that goat of hers a month ago and the little wolf brat laughing." He slurped his whisky and chipped the ice between his teeth.

"Looks like your Capitol hands won't be much use, then. Brilliant."

Sandor scoffed, and cracked his knuckles. "I've seen her lift heavy bags of flour round the Hob. Weights that Gregor struggled with. Plus she knows her plants and her camouflage."

A furious anger suddenly over took Sansa at being defended by the eighteen year old. The last time she had been defended by a man she was boarding the Capitol train with her family to district ten.

"Sandor hunts, and can use a knife. Plus he wrestles brilliantly at School, and they are all much better then plant-"

The stifling tension in the carriage was suddenly overcome with darkness; a large tunnel cast the room in smoky black, shadows dancing around the room as light was returned. The sudden change in environments calmed Sansa and Sandor somewhat; skin turned pale, fists uncurled in calmness.

"The Capitol!" Sandor suddenly said, shock in his voice.

The Capitol looked glistening, bright metallic buildings built on top of one another to create a colossus empire, greens and reds and blues all dancing to the roar of the population of Panem outside the train station. It had only taken a second for the District ten train to reach the city.

As the pair began to wave out of the windows, Sansa could barely see for the flashing lights and cameras spread around the crowds. Huge stands showed her and Sandor's faces permanently waving, and she could just see other tributes and their mentors leaving the carriages.

Tyrion was suddenly at her elbow.

"Come on," he hissed, pulling a bemused Sandor along with him, "We need to get to the Make Up Team in that building over there."

The roaring mass of Capitol citizens reached a climax as the District ten tributes left their train; clearing a way for the shaken pair, the peacekeepers quickly reached the large metallic building with Sansa and Sandor in tow.

As soon as the large doors shut behind them, a veritable host of rainbow coloured "artists" reached their victims, whisking the Hound and the Little Bird off into separate wings of the massive lair.

"Oh no no no, so much hair.." one light blue skinned woman tutted, as her co designers stripped Sansa to the bone.

"I know Dorcas, and the skin! So pale!" One large woman purred, her skin tinted a light yellow and green hair bobbed, to resemble a lollipop.

"Oh Lollys, her arms are so toned though! She must diet like mad!" The last of Sansa's captors murmured, as if the girl they studied was invisible.

The young fourteen year old stood encircled by her designers, fighting the desire to cover her small breasts and mound, whilst the three handmaidens began their work.

Thick wax was applied liberally to every expanse of skin, before ripped off hurriedly, earning a yelp from the tired Stark. Her eyebrows were tinted, legs bronzed and moisturized, make up applied heavily. When Sansa looked up in the mirrors encircling her, she barely recognized the sultry girl staring back at her, hair aflame and red lips pouting in defiance.

_Oh god Sanny, _thought Sansa, _what would Papa say? You look like those girls who knock around the Head peace keeper Petyr's doors. What would Arya do if she was here? Fight, kick, scratch, behave like the Direwolf we are known for. You must do that, Sanny. Become like Arya and forget how weak you are._

Sansa hadn't noticed the three maidens leave, and a young man enter the room.

He was dressed simply in black wool, his pale skin empty from harsh prosthetic procedures save gold eyeliner curling around his bright green eyes.

Brown curly hair was cropped closely to his skull, and light stubble grazed his cheeks. The man limped towards Sansa, and took one of her red nailed hands in his large grip.

"I'm Willas," the man silkily spoke, enunciating every word clearly, "And I'll be dressing you for tonight."


	3. Chapter 3

thank you for all the words of encouragement. It means alot and hopefully this will now be updated regularly.

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><p>Sansa looked down at herself in the mirror.<p>

She was clad in a great black suit, the shiny material clinging to every curve and every lump in her physique; it resembled the night sky in it's inky glory. Her lips were still tainted red. Sansa wanted to burn it off her body.

"I can't do this," She suddenly said to Willas, who patted one last pin into her copper hair. He smiled as the door opened.

"You don't have a choice."

Sandor entered with Tyrion. He was trussed up in the same manner as Sansa, his suit tight against his muscles.

"We ready to get this over?" He asked gruffly to the young girl. Sansa looked up nervously at Willas, before nodding.

As the duo reached their chariot, the black horses reared their heads back, and shuffled nervously. The roar of the crowds awaiting the tributes cried ever louder, night darkening the area where President Lannister awaited.

"Wait until you reach the middle of the arena!" Shouted Willas as the chariot took off. "Play to the crowd!"

And suddenly, they were in the Arena.

Everywhere Sansa and Sandor looked, there was a Captiol citizen, mouth foaming and eyes gaping with the excitement of death. Every time a chariot pushed forward there was a screech of excitement, a roar that could make or break a tribute.

Sansa twitched her shoulders as her chariot was pulled forward to the President. It felt heavy, odd.

And suddenly, she and Sandor were set on fire.

The crowd was positively thundering at the sight of the burgeoning flames, a noise like an explosion at the sight of the flame haired girl and the flame burnt man set afire for their enjoyment. Sansa quirked her lips and waved, to a further yell of the crowds.

"San, Sansa-"

She looked over to Sandor, to find him pale and shaking slightly.

_The fire._

She put her hand over his, and raised it up between them.

"It's alright, Sandor!" She shouted to him, a mere whisper under the sheer noise of the Capitol. "It can't hurt us!"

Sandor clutched her hand back then, with a surprising strength, and grinned at the crowds. His face was shown at the widescreens, to the delight of the many.

All too soon, the tributes had disembarked and were greeted by President Lannister. His face, feline with a savage grace, flicked over District Ten. He held his gaze with Sansa for a heartbeat longer. She shuddered, under the thick warmth of the dying flames. The happiness of the adoring crowds had now faded away under the gaze of the eldest Lannister, to be replaced with the hollow stomach that she had first felt when they came to arrest her father.

He raised one thin eyebrow, and turned away to the glittering podium.

_Hello again, old friend._

"Ladies," At the sound of their president the capitol grew quiet. "Gentlemen, please welcome our new tributes of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games!"

It had been a long and trying day. Sansa sighed, and smoothed her pale hand over her red tresses, before seating herself next to Lynesse at the dinner table. Once District Ten had been disrobed of their fire, Sansa, Sandor, and their team down for their first dinner at the capitol. Sandor was almost face down in his butter nut soup with tiredness, but managed to smile at his fellow tribute. Sansa blushed.

As polite dinner table conversation got underway, busy sharing greens and drinking bubbly lemonade, Sansa opened one ear to Tyrion's shaky advice.

"And District Twelve... unless they're the size of an ogre- don't be worried about them. A lack of nutrition and too much work will finish them off early."

"But they have Daenerys Targaryen mentoring them," Responded Sandor, surprised. "She's a legend."

The cheeky grin Tyrion had worn since the Reaping melted away like summer snow.

"Oh yes, her story may be. Yet the person is a much sadder tale."

"I hadn't heard." Muttered the tall boy, scratching at his bulky forearm.

Sansa looked up from her green bean salad.

"You've never heard of The Unburnt?" her voice was incredulous.

Sandor scoffed. "Of course I have. I just hadn't heard of the full story."

Happy in his position as the spreader of gossip, Tyrion folded his arms and cleared his throat.

"Her father was the last Targaryen King, before the uprising. He only reigned as a teen for a year, but when they were overthrown he was taken to District Twelve and left in the Gutters with his family. It's well known that a Targaryen will always be a tribute in the games."

Tyrion's slurred voice recounted the tale whispered to all children in their beds, and dropped low beneath the hubbub of forks scraping plates.

"Daenerys was the youngest of his three children. Rhaegar had died in the Games, and Viserys went mad from his time in there. It was a kinder end for him to drown in that river of gold. When she was chosen, a benefactor- and watch for him, Illyrio is a tricky git- gifted her three tiny dragon eggs, perfectly preserved in time. She was a smart one, was Dany. Acted like a little weakling until only a dozen left, then put that axe to good use. The rest, well, she burned. Fire was half the reason the Targaryens were overthrown, and the Coal District couldn't let their little princess into the arena without a few matches."

Even Willas and Lynesse was listening to the garblings of the dwarf now.

"The Capitol were mad with worry, the flames climbing higher to block out the cameras and even reach the tip of the enclosure. The next day, when the smoke had cleared and the Capitol could finally see into the Arena, Daenerys was the only thing that stood; naked, singed, but with three little dragons cradled to her chest."

Although Sansa had told this story a dozen times by the cold hearth in her home, she still gasped.

"The Capitol pretended to love it, of course, and the citizens were in a furore. I've never seen anything like it since- can you imagine it? This tiny, beautiful girl with three extinct creatures clinging to her arms? The only trouble came when Daenerys refused to hand them over to Lannister. You can't tame a dragon of course, human nor creature, and those little monsters had the power to melt your eyeballs if she commanded it. Dany thought she had finally won." Tyrion paused, eyes gleaming.

"But when she finally arrived home with her children and her hope, she found her family killed. Her aunts, uncles, parents, cousins, nieces and nephews- even the fiance. Everyone, left in the house for The Girl On Fire to greet."

"How big are they now? The dragons? " Asked Lynesse rather quietly.

Tyrion sucked his cheeks in, making his green eyes even more bulbous than normal. "This was about three years ago... they'll be the size of the arena before long, I'd wager."

Sandor knitted his brows together in a frown. "That's why she rarely comes to the Capitol."

"Why this year?" Chimed in Sansa, dabbing her lips with an embossed napkin.

"Questions, questions," Suddenly rose Willas, clutching unsteadily at the table. He looked sharply at Tyrion, who smiled.

"Come now, little ones. We have an early day tomorrow."

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><p>Whatever are they planning?<p> 


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